


You Didn’t Get to Heaven but You Made it Close

by Gay_as_fuck



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, post luna 1, these bots have problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 04:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7830001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gay_as_fuck/pseuds/Gay_as_fuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The crew is deeply hurt after the events of luna 1 and overlord, or at least what's left of them. A glimpse at the three highest ranking members of the ship and how each are dealing (or not dealing) with what has happened and what they've had to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Didn’t Get to Heaven but You Made it Close

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from the coldplay song 42
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful beta and friend who i can not thank or love enough awfulhospital, go read their stories they are so good.
> 
> (http://archiveofourown.org/users/awfulhospital/pseuds/awfulhospital/works)

Somewhere in the Corinth nebula, the Lost Light floated aimlessly against the dark backdrop of space. Those stationed on the command bridge were waiting rather impatiently; their captain had yet to give them the go ahead to travel on in search of Thunderclash.

“Rodimus,” Blaster started, “we need you to have us set a course. If not, Ultra Magnus will throw us in the brig again.” Mainframe nodded in agreement, adding an exaggerated shiver for effect.

Rodimus had his head down hiding his eyes, frame shaking with something the two bots pestering him couldn’t identify. 

“Hellooooo? Rodimus? Anybody home?” Blaster asked, reaching out his hand to shake the speedster’s arm. Rodimus didn’t look up, but pulled his arm away from the communications officer. Mainframe gave a sigh and turned away from the captain.

“Let’s try later. I don’t think we’re going to get anything out of him.”

Blaster fiddled with some of the controls and checked the ship’s systems. As he ran the diagnostic the captain muttered something that neither officer could make out.

“What did you say?” Mainframe asked. 

“Set course for Thunderclash.”

The words were the first the captain had spoken since he and the rest of the crew from the Luna 1 mission had returned to the ship two days before. Ultra Magnus had given the mission report while Rodimus sat next to him, silent and weary.

“Took you long enough,” Blaster huffed, walking with Mainframe toward the control panel where they’d soon be setting course for the last known location of Thunderclash. While Mainframe and Blaster argued, Rodimus slowly stood up made another statement through gritted teeth.

“I’m leaving.”

His comment was heard by his crewmates, but neither looked up or acknowledged their captain. Rodimus gave a sigh and exited the bridge on shaky legs. His head was full of thoughts of what he had promised his second in command. 

He felt sick to his stomach to have finally said the words aloud to Ultra Magnus. The Autobot who had, despite everything, believed that he could work toward becoming a better captain. Primus, what had he been thinking when he had said he’d confess? It was so much easier to place the blame on Drift.

A sudden wave of remorse and pain came over him in the hallway, forcing him to lean on the wall for support. He knew that he needed to get his wounds checked out. When the Matrix had self-destructed inside his chest, it had caused not just unbearable pain but also critical damage. 

He really needed to go see Ratchet in the medibay and get himself checked out. Instead, he pushed himself away from the wall with a grunt and continued the long walk to his hab-suite. He couldn’t bring himself to admire the flames around the door he had spent so long painting.

When he had first painted them, Magnus had pitched a fit, complaining about how they “messed up the aesthetic of the hallway” (a word which Rodimus had had to look up afterwards). For months after, Magnus had itched to scrub the bright flames off the walls.

Drift, on the other hand, had loved it; the white-and-red mech had burst into laughter when he first saw them. He had joked and teased, but honestly admitted that the mural helped him find his way through the twisting halls of the ship to Rodimus’ quarters.

The thoughts of Drift being happy drove a dagger of guilt through his already-pained spark. He took the final few steps through his door and into his trashed room. Black blaster shots still covered the space from floor to ceiling.

Rodimus sighed as he pulled himself through the doorway and onto his berth, guilty thoughts still heavy on his mind. Why did he have to be himself? A better mech would have admitted his wrongdoing right away. He’d stalled for two days already and was sure Magnus had been avoiding him. 

He’d been called a “petulant child” before, among other things. He knew that the crew mocked him behind his back for his sudden changes in mood and seemingly-rash decisions. He’d been accused of making half of his decisions based on petty reasoning, like just having had a bad day and wanting to take his anger out on someone. Yes, he was angry with the world, but most of all himself. He had been angry at himself for as long as he could remember, each new offense just adding more fuel to the fire. Kicking Drift off the ship and not admitting to involvement in bringing Overlord onboard was one of his worst offenses.

He briefly wondered if he should look for Drift after he admitted his fault; get off the ship and give it to Ultra Magnus who was sure to be a better captain. Ultra Magnus who wouldn’t keep secrets for the crew and-   
But Magnus had kept a secret. A rather big one.

Minimus Ambus, Magnus, whoever his second in command was, Rodimus felt as if he didn’t know him anymore. The stern mech had been a constant in all the chaos of the quest. No surprises from strict old Ultra Magnus. The reveal had thrown the speedster off, leaving him feeling betrayed.

“DAMN IT!” he yelled at the empty space in his hab-suite. 

He didn’t know who his second in command really was. Then again, he supposed he did and it was disappointing. He hadn’t really been anyone else inside; just boring old Magnus in a smaller body. And now his best friend was off the ship because of his stupid actions. Primus, Drift must hate him.

Rodimus vented shakily. He needed to stop stalling and do what he had to do. He tried to push the anger and fear down, but it was just too strong and confusing. He didn’t know how to deal with all the emotions pulling at his spark.

Betrayal and self hate; he deserved better than this. He tried to make himself believe it but he just couldn’t. He deserved all of this. It was his fault so many had died. He wanted to deserve to be happy, but his brain kept pulling and pushing and reminded him of all the things he’d done to hurt people, even if by accident.

Nyon had burnt by his hand. Dozens of ‘bots had joined the Afterspark due to his shitty choices. He growled in frustration. Why did he have to be so… so him? At some level he felt he had to pay for all the pain he had caused with his own, even if he didn’t want to. And he definitely didn’t. Or did he?

No matter how many times he cycled through his thoughts, he couldn’t figure anything out. He knew that doing the “right thing” for his crew was the only option… but what was the right thing?

He needed to tell the crew about what he had done, and then look for his best friend. Well, his only friend now that he thought about it. His only friend who surely hated him with all his spark. What kind of best friend lets their counterpart take the fall?

He’d figure all that out later. If he was still captain after his confession, he’d probably just keep looking. The thought of seeing Drift angry at him broke his heart. He needed to tell his crew everything.

He pulled himself up off his berth and numbly started his way back to the bridge. He didn’t pay attention to the way he staggered, or the looks some crew members shot him. He had his eyes fixed on the path in front of him.

He didn’t look at Blaster and Mainframe as he came back to the bridge; simply ordered them to leave.

“Out.”   
Mainframe gave a huff. “We still need time to set the full course, so you can’t have the bridge all to yourself. If you need privacy, go back to your room and sulk like you have been for the last two days.”

“Yeah,” Blaster chimed in, puffing up his chest.

Rodimus gritted his teeth and pointed to the door.

“I’ll remind you this is your captain you’re speaking to. And I’m only saying it once. GET. OUT.”

Rodimus’ tone spooked Blaster and Mainframe as the two silently exited the bridge and left the captain to himself.

He walked over to the broadcasting system, barely holding in his anger. He tried to calm his voice, and somewhat succeeded. It made him sound emotionless and tired, but it was better than angry.

Angry at himself and the world. At Tyrest, and Overlord, and Magnus, and the thought of what could have been. He opened up the ship’s broadcasting system and called into the radio, knowing full well this was the last moment he had before the whole crew would know what a fraud he really was.

Everyone would know after this, and they would all hate him. All thoughts of saving his own ass were pushed aside as he prepared because he had to do this. He owed it to the Lost Light.

“Hello Lost Light, this is your captain speaking….”

\-----

 

Ultra Magnus sat with his name placard in his hands. It read as it always had; “Ultra Magnus Duly Appointed Officer of the Tyrest Accord.” But now it seemed fake, gilded, like plastic instead of silver.

Every word was a lie now, each one so forward in their falsehood and so solid in their belief. He was not Ultra Magnus, nor was he the duly appointed officer of the Tyrest Accord. 

He never noticed that he was living a lie until his pretense was revealed. He had gotten so comfortable as Ultra Magnus that he didn’t feel like Minimus Ambus anymore. He didn’t feel like the last son of a failing house, overshadowed by a missing brother.

He wasn’t Minimus Ambus anymore. A long time ago he had started thinking of himself as Ultra Magnus. He thought of his limbs as large and light blue instead of small and green, and the crew was none the wiser.

He was Ultra Magnus, an Autobot who represented the law and offered stability. The crew had known him as a constant, yet now he was floating. He was no longer a “duly appointed officer” of anything in their eyes, which had been all that mattered to Ultra Magnus. He didn’t have anything that mattered to Minimus, both identities were so rigid that he couldn’t fit himself in either.

He turned the plaque over in his hands, the unmarked silver color was peaceful and uncaring, as if not expecting him to be anything. To him the plainness of it was mocking, as if it was telling him that all his grand titles and respect were a lie.

It was as if he was the Magnus armor trying to fit into Minimus’ body; it just wouldn’t work no matter how hard he tried. He was drifting, lost, but didn’t know how to deal with it. Was he Ultra Magnus, the loyal yet critical second in command or Minimus Ambus, last of a dying house?

The only thing that proved who he was to himself was where his loyalties laid. He wasn’t an appointed officer and he wasn’t a member of the house of Ambus. He was the second in command of the Lost Light, and being loyal to Rodimus would have been enough.

His captain had done the unspeakable and hadn’t paid for it yet. His confusing and unruly captain. How could he be loyal to someone that couldn’t even uphold the truth, the most basic of laws? His face hardened as he realized that he was the same as his captain, hiding something world shattering about himself.

He thought of the other liar that had hurt him so deeply; Tyrest. The Chief Justice who had believed so strongly that his discriminatory actions were just and right. In his last days Tyrest had lived and worked in the shadow of a lie, hoping that it would become truth and instead of a devil he would be a saint.  
Magnus hated that he saw himself in his delusional boss and his last attempt at doing something Tyrest had saw as great. Tyrest’s goal was so far from great, it was more an atrocity than an act of Primus.

He wasn’t one to show his anger, but in moments of desperation or panic, he let his strength show. It wasn’t that he wished to destroy anything; more that unchecked emotions surged through him and things got broken along the way.

It was because of this he crushed the name plate in his hands. He didn’t know how to feel or who to feel it through. He wanted to yell at his captain, who hadn’t changed his ways and hadn’t yet confessed his crime. He was never good at communicating, and neither was Rodimus. That was the beauty of being Ultra Magnus; he could speak through the law.

He had prided himself on being an honest Cybertronian, and he sometimes forgot (and mostly ignored) that he was living a lie. He decided that he’d been thinking too much. These thoughts always lead to darker places. Just because his old boss was a mass murder and he wasn’t what people expected didn’t make him any less, did it? The lies on the nameplate that lay crushed in his hands wasn’t all that he had... right?

His thoughts were interrupted by the static of the intercom firing up, and he heard the shaky voice of his captain. He knew what was going to be said as soon as the speakers had crackled to life, but he wasn’t expecting it to sound so honest.

The truth was out now, and no matter how right it felt to have the weight of that secret lifted off his shoulders, Magnus couldn’t help but fear his downfall. His title as second-in-command of a strange ship bound for old legends that might not even exist was all he had left.

His world shattered a bit more with the revelation that this was finite and real; the only thing he could trust. His captain was going to pay for what he had done. There should have been some sweetness to the triumph of justice, but it came away sour on his tongue.

\-----

 

The medibay was mostly empty; only the two remaining medical officers were there. First Aid was tucked in the surgery room cleaning and scrubbing out energon while Ratchet tackled cleaning the main berths.

Ratchet gritted his teeth when thinking about First Aid and what he had said to his friend. He shouldn’t have done that. Looking back over what he had said and done, he just couldn’t find a way to get around it.

He had needed to say what he’d said, and lie about saving Ambulon. The thought of Ambulon made Ratchet tighten his grip on the steel wool scraper he was using on one of the medical berths. 

Energon had gotten everywhere thanks to the legislator-inflicted injuries they’d all recently sustained. He knew that the pink stains were from Autobots who were already safe and healing, but in his mind the pink was the energon of his ward manager.

He was angry at himself for letting his student get killed and trusting Pharma in the slightest. The jet had been a close friend a long time ago, someone who’d stood by him and trusted the choices he made.

Pharma had been smarter than him; clever and ruthless, and wanting nothing more than to be treated as a savior. He’d done so much good in his life, he practically was. It hurt Ratchet to know that even after all that had transpired on Luna 1, Pharma was still a better medic than him.

He understood that the Pharma he knew had been long gone by Delphi, but he didn’t think it had been this bad. He thought Pharma had just been a coward and a murderer, not a twisted mech devoid of morality. Ratchet had unknowingly begun to scrub harder in the same spot, the paint on his hands steadily flaking off.

He hated those hands. Sure, they were skilled. But they were the stolen hands of a murderer. Part of him felt that using them to heal was a way of making up for what he had done. It was at that moment Ratchet realized something, in his mind he had blamed himself for something pharma had done.

Though he didn’t beat around the bush, Ratchet wasn’t exactly known for dealing with his feelings; but this thought startled him. Did he actually think that he was to blame for what Pharma had done? It had been his fault Pharma had fallen as a handless coward, but the jet deserved it.

Maybe if he had taken Pharma into custody or called for Fort Max, things could have turned out differently. But he couldn’t go back and change anything. Ratchet knew that it wasn’t his fault for what Pharma had done, but it felt easier to control his emotions, thinking that way. 

He cursed and tried to shake himself out of his thoughts. What was thinking? Pharma was a greedy coward and a murderer. He deserved the fate he got. First Aid had shot him dead.

He felt another wave of guilt wash over him, but shook his head in the hopes that he could discontinue that train of thought. He looked down at the spot he had been scrubbing to find he had made a small dent in it. He cursed and moved to the side to work on more of the stains.

His efforts to not let his mind wander were in vain, though; after a while the pink of the energon brought him back to his thoughts. The medibay was just too damn quiet to not mull over recent events. He thought back to First Aid, who’d eventually killed Pharma.

Ratchet had taken some satisfaction in seeing the other red-and-white medical officer killed, but First Aid had been thrown into a panic attack. Ratchet was torn on what to do about the state of his student, who had become unresponsive and cold. First Aid was bottling up his emotions, and Ratchet had seen enough mechs to know that there were only three ways that could end. He didn’t want any of those fates for his student.

However deeply he cared for First Aid, he didn’t know how to help. Numbly, he wondered if First Aid had found himself curled up in his own mind in the surgery room. He wanted to confront First Aid and explain how deeply sorry he was, yet he couldn’t bring himself to regret the life-saving lie he’d fed to First Aid.

Ratchet dolefully noted that he was much better with his words than his hands. His hands that he wanted to cup under First Aid’s chin, and use to tell him that it would be okay. But they were Pharma’s hands. He’d probably end up in a screaming match with his student, only getting angrier at himself.

As he finished sanitizing the berth, he noticed that one of the screws keeping it secured to the wall was coming loose. He moved to his desk to get the correct-sized wrench when the intercom crackled, and Rodimus’ voice echoed over it.

Ratchet gave a snort. It was good to see the captain finally doing something beside sulking. He hoped that the next thing on the red speedster’s to-do list would be coming down and getting a checkup. The poor kid had gone through an unimaginable amount of pain when the Matrix broke.

His sympathy for Rodimus dwindled as he listened to the speech. Anger filled him and a growl slipped its way out of his mouth. 

“BASTARD!” Ratchet yelled, pushing his supplies off his desk in anger. Their ass of a captain had let Overlord on board, and then let Drift take the fall for it. Drift had been publicly exiled, though it was Rodimus who had given the order to bring Overlord on board.

He thought of the mechs who had died because of Overlord and of those who had been hurt. It was all Rodimus’ fault. He wanted to yell and go beat some sense into the captain, but he also wanted to stay with First Aid.

He was indescribably resentful of Rodimus. He wanted to punch or shoot something, but he couldn’t do that. He needed to be calm and go punish Rodimus, the fucker. He gripped the wrench in his hand until the metal bent a little. 

He didn’t know what to do. Stay calm or rage? Stay with First Aid or go yell at Rodimus? He knew that if he went to yell at Rodimus now, he’d regret just turning it into a shouting match he was certain it’d be.

Still, he didn’t care. He wanted to go yell at Rodimus. He was the cause for so much death and pain; those who had died and those who loved the dead. Rodimus was at fault for the deaths of Pipes, Rewind, and all the others.

Ratchet slammed his wrench down on the table creating a dent where metal had struck metal. Holding the tool close to his side, Ratchet traveled with speed and determination to the bridge. He was going to knock some sense into the speedster he didn’t care if he was going to regret it later.


End file.
